The Eyes Behind the Mask
by FrUKing Awesome Canadian Hero
Summary: Every year, Alfred throws a masquerade ball for Halloween, and somehow he finds a way to make Arthur attend. He always spends the whole night lurking in a corner, waiting for it to end. But this year, it's different; Arthur finds himself swept off his feet by a mysterious man with vividly, beautifully blue eyes - but who will it be at the end of the night? FrUK; T for kissing.


**A/N: Blargh, I was waiting to post this until Halloween day, but the temptation has finally overcome me. So...**

**_HAPPY HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE!_ *squeeing and dancing in circle* 'Tis the time for British summoning songs and Jack-o-Lanterns and CardverseMasqueradeBall!FrUK, is it not? Anyway, this fic was kinda-sorta inspired by _Dance D'Amour_, by the 69 Eyes, which quite frankly just screams FRANCE at me. **

**Also. I am extremely sorry for my sudden and unexplained deadness here on , but a couple of weeks ago a set of rather... erm, _trying _circumstances arose, and I had absolutely no internet access or contact with the outside world for a while. Since then I've been so busy I can barely find time to log in, so I apologize if I've been ignoring your PMs and reviews! I love you all and will be back in full swing as soon as things settle down a bit.**

**Many apologies!**

**_Much_ Love from Maple**

* * *

Arthur would never know why, every year, Alfred held a masquerade ball for Halloween.

Seeing as the rest of the things he did were often done with less-than-poetic grace, and he showed practically no interest in culture or elegance whatsoever, it had always left Arthur wondering why, exactly he held the grand party every single year without fail. But every time he asked the American, Alfred just shrugged and said, quite honestly, that he just thought it would be fun. The most obvious legitimate excuse Arthur could come up with for the America's strange fascination with the masquerade ball was that he enjoyed the excitement of it all—not knowing who anyone was, the exhilaration of guessing, and then the disbelief and chaos that always broke out when everyone took off their masks at the last stroke of midnight.

Arthur hated it.

He hated not being able to know who his friends or enemies were, not knowing whether to trust them or if they would use any single accidental slip of the tongue against him later. At least in the World Conference room, he knew who to snap at to leave him the bloody fuck alone and who to at least be halfway-honest with. Not at the ball. But every single year, Alfred always found a way to make him attend; he always seemed to with all the nations, their bosses and a few important citizens. And every single year, Arthur, made incredibly uneasy by the whole situation, hung back in a corner wishing he had a cigarette, and waited until midnight, when they were allowed to go home if they chose.

This year, he was late to the party. As he shut the front door behind him, music wafted from the end of the hall, golden light dancing from under the door. His boots were uncomfortably loud, sounding with every step on the creaky, polished old mahogany floor. Muffled laughter and music echoed from the end of the hall.

Arthur walked to the door, adjusting his mask nervously, and carefully stepped into the brightly lit ballroom.

He had to squint against the golden light, brilliant after the dimness of the hall and the cool Autumn night outside. The murmur of talk and laughter was suddenly clear in his ears, snippets of conversations floating past as nations and humans mixed and mingled, not here to discuss politics or world problems, but simply to have a good time. In awe for a moment, Arthur paused to take it all in—the high, airy ceiling, sheer vastness of the white marble ballroom, the shimmering of golden detail on the walls and the inky blackness pressing in against the arched windows. The people here were like characters in some beautiful, surreal storybook, masks glittering in the golden light of the magnificent chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the _clink_ of their glasses sounding through the laughter and talk, costumes perfected and brilliant, in every sense of the word.

Magnificent though it was, Arthur simply wanted to escape from the sea of strangers.

He _hated_ not knowing who to trust.

The only comfort to him was the knowledge that just like everyone else, he was as unknown as the ghostly breezes rustling the autumn leaves of the trees outside. Just as mysterious. Just as nameless and strange.

But even amongst the glistening crowd, he knew that he stood out.

Whilst everyone else seemed to be wearing the colours of their kingdom with pride—the deep, emerald green of spades, inky black of diamonds, rich violet of clubs or beautiful blue of hearts—Arthur belonged to none. He was a pirate, for this ball—regal, dangerous, and wild as the sea. The mask covering his eyes glittered with deep crimson swirls against his pale skin, his eyes shining piercingly green behind it, extravagant hat on his head and leather boots sounding against the floor with every step he took. He belonged to no one but the sea. A surge of the old adrenaline rushed into his veins, lifting his chin and straightening his back, moving his hand to rest casually on the hilt of his gleaming sword. He was a pirate—wealthy, respected and feared by all, no matter what their kingdom or power.

Standing with the graceful, deadly superiority that he'd not felt since the day he'd defeated Antonio's armada, Arthur surveyed the room with his head held high.

A few people and nations danced to the music, laughing, talking, and observing each other, clearly trying to guess at who the each of the others were. The King and Queen of Spades, in magnificent robes of rich green, stood watching the others waltz; Arthur watched as he took her hand with a bow and led her onto the floor.

The Queen of Diamonds stood talking to a high lady dressed in the rich violet of clubs, his ornate black mask clearly defining his place as Queen. As Arthur's eyes rested on him for a moment, he noticed the other man striding up behind him, touching the small of his back gently. There was absolutely no mistaking the King of Diamonds' messy silver hair; he was definitely Gilbert. Some other man must be his Queen for tonight.

Blue, black, violet and green mixed and mingled in the room, all rich and glimmering beneath the golden light and deep against the cool white marble of the ballroom, all fading slightly against the radiance of Arthur's mask and the piercing glow of his eyes. Satisfied with what he'd seen, Arthur cast one more glance around before he intended to retreat to his corner of the room to wait out the four hours until the ball ended.

But now, his glance faltered.

In the center of the room, suddenly there stood a man he didn't think he'd ever seen before.

Clad in robes of brilliant, sky-blue velvet, a white heart insignia borne on his chest, and a thick, fur-lined robe flowing down from his shoulders, stood the King of Hearts.

Even from across the room, he could feel their gazes meet.

The king's eyes were profoundly, beautifully blue.

His mask flashed blue and silver as he turned away after a moment of meeting Arthur's gaze, robe swishing behind him.

* * *

This year, Arthur found himself not counting the minutes until midnight, but instead using them to observe the mysterious King of Hearts.

He took what glances he could get; it was frustrating, really, how he could never seem to get more than a flash of blue before once again, the man would disappear into the crowd. Arthur's eyes would flicker to the arching window, stars shining faintly beneath the inky black darkness that pressed in against the glass, to the King, and then back to the stars once again.

He didn't know why he wanted to go and talk to the King so desperately.

But chin held high, he stayed in his corner, forcing himself to simply observe. It confused him, though, how the King always seemed to be having a conversation with someone around him, but his mouth never moved. How could he possibly be...? He watched as the man smiled, shaking his head. And then he realized.

The King was not speaking at all.

He must be staying completely silent, and simply letting the people around him drive the conversations he seemed so immersed in as he moved slowly through the crowd. And surely enough, even as he turned away from the last woman with a smile and kiss to her hand, Arthur never saw him speak.

It took him a moment to realize that the King had turned to look at him, as well, and that a small smile played around his lips as he carefully started through the crowd toward him. Slowly the crowd thinned, leaving him a clear path to make his way to Arthur.

Arthur watched edgily, unsure of whether he should move away or let the man come to him, until finally the King of Hearts was standing before him, in warm, regal silence.

His soft blond hair shone under the light, eyes brilliant and impossibly deep and that same small smile playing around his lips. The King bowed deeply to him, taking his hand gently and looking up to meet his eyes as he pressed his lips to Arthur's skin, silky hair brushing his hand softly. Those lips were full, warm...

Arthur felt the man's fingers lace softly with his as he straightened up, motioning questioningly toward the dance floor. His eyes twinkled behind the shimmering mask, communicating what his silence could not.

Arthur nodded slowly, allowing the King to lead him gently in the direction of the floor.

Heads turned, eyes following the King and pirate as they drew to a halt in the center of the floor, none of the onlookers making so much as an attempt to hide their wonderment at how a man of such high rank and powerful rival were to be seen together. It was forbidden, a scandal. Arthur could feel their stares boring into him. He nearly found himself blushing, chin dropping beneath the weight of their disapproval, but with one glance at the King's brilliant blue eyes, determination brought his regality back with a vengeance.

He refused to be outdone by this King.

But when the man's hands found his waist to settle there gently, the warmth of them sent a jolt through him. He looked up into the silver-masked face, to find those blue eyes smiling back at him. Only nearly did he keep from scowling, forcing his face not to give away the dismaying excitement that had just surged through him—but before he knew what he was doing, his hands were on the King's shoulders, resting lightly on the warm velvet fabric of his cloak. This man was warm—entirely as warm as his hands on Arthur's back. As they danced to the music, the man's cloak flared around them, a smile quirked his lips, golden hair shining under the light. Everything about this man was golden—his skin, his hair, the shimmerings in those blue eyes. He was the personification of sunlight. A golden god.

Arthur nearly scowled again, and shook that thought from his mind.

Above him, the King smiled.

They were dancing closer now, just the two of them and the music, drinking each other in. Arthur's face never gave away a thing, even as his eyes met with the beautiful blue ones of the King.

He was enraptured by those eyes.

He simply couldn't bring himself to look away.

The King seemed to catch just a glimpse of his smile.

* * *

Even as the night wore on, neither Arthur nor the mysterious King of Hearts left the dance floor. Neither spoke. Arthur found himself lost in those eyes that shimmered in a thousand shades of blue, flecked with brilliant gold that seemed to flash when the light hit it a certain way. Even though he couldn't remember it happening, Arthur was sure the two of them were dancing nearer than was acceptable for two men of their positions, but he couldn't quite bring himself to mind the lofty, disapproving stares of the other guests. He was lost in the King's cerulean eyes. He hoped his face had not yet given anything away.

The man's strong, gentle arms around his waist brought him closer, sending another rush through his stomach, nearly making him smile for a reason even he didn't know. He only just stopped himself in time. Even though Arthur knew he shouldn't be dancing with this man, he couldn't pull away if his life was at stake.

His hands still rested on the King's shoulders—not wide, like Alfred's, but not skinny, like his own. This man was perfect. His hair still shone, a few waves falling gracefully from the loose ponytail tied with a soft blue ribbon, to frame his masked face. Arthur found himself wishing to reach out and run his fingers through that blond hair that looked so soft to touch; only his dignity stopped him. Too many layers of formalities lay between them for open, casual touch.

The touch that he suddenly wanted so desperately.

Flashes of scarlet flitted across the King's smooth face when they turned, and Arthur felt his heart speed up when the man pulled him closer, and now it was definite that they were far too near to each other to be appropriate. Their chests were brushing, Arthur's arms sliding around the King's neck, and as he searched those blue eyes for some sort of disapproval or apprehension at his forwardness, the only thing he found was a tiny smile.

And now he couldn't help himself.

It was as though the entire world was slipping away, until he couldn't feel anything but those beautiful blue eyes behind the flashing silver mask, and warm hair and soft skin and the perfume of roses and rain all around them. Arthur's heart was racing now, far, far too fast, but he was powerless to stop it, feeling the King's warm arms at his waist, pulling him closer still, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the warmth of the two of them. He had never been so close to someone. Not like this. This man, who he knew better than anyone else—this mysterious stranger—was so beautiful, he could hardly even think. Those impossibly, vividly blue eyes took his breath away. It was as if they could see straight to his soul, in all their deep beauty, and somehow Arthur just couldn't bring himself to look away.

He'd never known that breath could tell so much. The King brought them closer still, arms sliding around Arthur's waist, his warm, even breaths ghosting over the side of Arthur's face, and he knew he'd come absolutely undone in this beautiful man's arms. His eyes slipping closed, he reveled in the scent and the warmth and the electricity in the touch of the beautiful, golden King of Hearts, and knew that the man had rightly earned his title. Arthur tightened his arms around the King's neck, so their noses were nearly brushing, breaths mingling, eyes flickering closed.

In moments they were kissing.

Arthur's heart felt like it would burst from his chest, it was beating so, so hard.

The King's lips were soft on his, his scent all around, the music and murmur of talk and the presence of all the people drowned out by his kiss. Arthur moaned softly, the magic of this man's lips taking his breath away. He couldn't do anything but kiss back for all he was worth, suddenly so desperate it made him ache.

When they finally broke apart, it was the very last stroke of midnight.

"_Arthur_," a softly accented voice breathed huskily against the side of his face.

Arthur's eyes snapped open.

The King pulled away only enough to lift Arthur's scarlet mask from his face, that same small smile quirking his lips once again. Arthur felt panic seeping into him, fast heartbeat no longer pleasant, but instead a sinking feeling of doom taking root in his stomach. The King still hadn't taken off his own mask, and it flashed blue and silver under the light.

How could he have lost himself like this?

"How did you know it was me?" he asked, voice gone suddenly cold, trying to take a step back but feeling the man's warm, strong arms hold them together.

"Arthur," the King murmured, fondly, eyes warm behind his mask. He kissed Arthur's face softly. "Of course I knew it was you, _mon belle. _Only you could be so cold to me."

Arthur watched, frozen, as the King of Hearts took off his blue mask, and his heart stopped.

France.

Francis chuckled softly, finally pulling away, standing back from Arthur and making him feel cold all over. He couldn't decide if he had imagined the tiniest hint of sadness in the Frenchman's laugh. For a moment he just stood there, looking at Francis, feeling absolutely numb inside. France. France would never want him. France hated him. France had done this to hurt him, and nothing more. France _loathed _him.

"But I suppose all wonderful things must come to an end," Francis murmured softly, turning away. "And tonight has finally come to an end."

Only when he began to walk away did Arthur realize what he'd said.

"Wait! W-wait, you bloody frog!" He reached out to grab Francis's hand, not quite knowing why, feeling that same jolt when their skin met and Francis turned, brilliant blue eyes meeting green. And then Arthur didn't even realize what he was saying until it was already said, and all he could do was look into those blue eyes and know that it had to be true.

"It doesn't have to end," he whispered.

Francis stared at him for a moment, eyes unreadable.

But then, slowly, cautiously, his hand slipped from Arthur's, gently sliding down to his waist. Arthur's heart was racing again, as France drew closer, his other hand sending a surge of heat through him when it settled on his skin, and his arms were moving guardedly back around Francis's neck, even though all he really wanted to do was kiss this beautiful man until they were both senseless. Golden hair brushed his face, Francis's beautiful blue eyes painfully unreadable, but all Arthur could think of was how Francis was so, so close to him. Not the King of Hearts—_Francis_. His heart was racing, stomach in knots, fear and desperate _want _rushing though him until he could barely even breathe. It was just him, and Francis, with those impossibly, vividly blue eyes.

Francis leaned in slowly, and Arthur found himself doing the same, tilting his head, letting his eyes slip closed. It seemed like forever, feeling Francis's smooth breath ghosting over his face, his lips, desperate to kiss him again. And then finally, _finally_, Francis's lips brushed his, and the surge of electricity broke Arthur's last thread of control.

He was kissing Francis as hard as he could, lips bruising, tongues sliding, breaths hard and heavy through their noses. Arthur felt those warm hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, and he tightened his arms around Francis's neck, moaning into his mouth. Yes, _yes—_this was what he'd wanted. He didn't care that there were others around, or that he was being snogged senseless by a man who was supposed to be his worst enemy, or about anything but the hot, wet tongue in his mouth and the hands running down his back and the silky golden hair beneath his fingers. He was pushing even closer, rolling his tongue with Francis's, feeling the hot, heavy breaths on his skin. Francis mumbled something into his mouth, but Arthur couldn't hear it around the heat surging through him and the searing kisses from this beautiful, beautiful man with the absolutely stunning blue eyes.

When Francis finally broke the kiss, he hovered with his face nearly touching Arthur's, and Arthur's eyes flickered open to meet the deep blue gaze that seemed to look to his very soul. Arthur stood there, in the warmth of Francis's arms, looking into those eyes, trying to memorize every tiny detail.

A tiny smile made its way onto his lips; they looked even brighter now, as Francis kissed his cheek softly. Arthur smiled, laughing softly, leaning in to capture Francis's lips once again.

Those cerulean eyes would be eternal in his memory.

He liked them so much better when they weren't behind the mask.


End file.
